At Least There's Us
by Val-Creative
Summary: "Gonna go pick a room?" Bellamy asks, voice low and soft. She recognizes the pitch — it's meant only for her. He leaves the others and hovers by Octavia's side by the steel staircase, rubbing his thumb over the side of her cheek. /Canon Era. Oneshot.


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"Gonna go pick a room?" Bellamy asks, voice low and soft.

She recognizes the pitch — it's meant only for _her_. He leaves the others and hovers by Octavia's side by the steel staircase, rubbing his thumb over the side of her cheek.

Blood — _whose blood, hers or Grounders, it doesn't matter now_ — and grime, as well as the obsidian, thickened warpaint smears further across Octavia's skin, and Bellamy's fingertips.

"I'm gonna go pick _our_ room," she corrects him. Her lips twitch up as Bellamy shakes his head and laughs.

His grin so heartfelt, so _sudden_.

On the way down another floor, he barely keeps his hands to himself, pressing on her lower back and squeezing her nape gently, as if guiding her. If Octavia had been in a different and _irritable_ mood, she may have knocked him away, cursing. This time, it feels comforting.

Everyone doubles or triples up with occupants in each sleeping quarters, and due to the size of the ones still available, this one will only fit two people. There's high fluorescent lighting that stings Octavia's eyes.

"At least there's a cot," Bellamy mutters, shucking off his padded, dark jacket.

They could be sleeping in the dirt for all she cares, because Octavia almost lost her brother _again_ , and this has to stop — she understands the meaning of strength and honor, what it means to carry a warrior's burden. Octavia refuses to lose someone else this soon.

Not Bellamy, _not him_.

He glimpses the forlorn, silent glint of moisture in her eyes.

"Shut up," Octavia whispers, swallowing hard and wiping her nose with her ragged, grey sleeve.

As soon as Bellamy is within reach — where he's _supposed_ to be — she seizes onto the front of his crew-neck, yanking him down and planting herself against his mouth, their kiss filthy-sweet and cascading warmth from the surface of Octavia's face to her toes.

Bellamy's arms surround her, muscles tensed but holding onto Octavia's middle, pulling her in, chest-to-chest, heartbeat-to-heartbeat.

The safest she's ever been… it's been with Bellamy.

He's made mistakes in the past, has acted rash and selfishly to the point where Octavia blamed him, but everything spirals back to her. To _them_.

Maybe it's fucked up — or maybe it's as _natural_ as gravity, where he's in her orbit and Octavia burns up like a stellar-sun, hot and flushed. She gasps to Bellamy's chapped lips tasting like sweat and clods of dry dirt.

"O," he breathes out as if already dazed out, nudging their foreheads. Bellamy's hands tangled and petting the braids in her sleek, black hair.

With a mischievous look, Octavia unbuckles her battle-jerkin, making quicker work of her tunic.

" _Shh_ , the walls might be thin," she murmurs, kissing Bellamy's jaw and smiling widely, nipping the edge, exposing her teeth and then, biting on his lower lip _harder_ , tugging it.

Bellamy's moan, strung up with pleasure, feels like molten liquid-heat, traveling inside Octavia, _screaming_ for him in primal darkness until she's wet and aching between her trembling legs.

It's the kind of _weakness_ Octavia craves.

He drops to his knees, pressing his face to Octavia's bare, heaving sternum, lightly kissing a path to her breasts, touching, _teasing_ with his opened, warm mouth and his tongue.

Losing her patience, Octavia grunts out her frustration and clasps onto one of Bellamy's hands, shoving his fingers against her crotch.

They've done this _before_ … why can't he just…

"I'm getting there," Bellamy says, far too amused with his cocked eyebrow. He lifts her up effortlessly and depositing her onto the cot. The bedding isn't soft, and Octavia scowls up faintly at him.

" _Bell_ …"

"Shh," he mimics her, crawling up her half-naked body. It rightfully earns a halfhearted smack on the mouth with Octavia's palm.

They're too hurried for removing every single piece of clothing, breathing hard and grinding, quivering in anticipation when Bellamy's drool-slicked fingers ease inside her, thrusting lazily.

It's not to her liking — she wants to _fuck_. Now. The leftover adrenaline from the Conclave rears up, flooding her veins. Octavia reaches for his dick, guiding _him_ this time, prodding the tip against her opening, spreading her thighs.

"Need you, Bell," she mumbles, looking him in the eye. Octavia knows she's a wreck, covered in blood and slimy with heavy perspiration, with all of this overheated flesh and urging, rough gestures.

This is just how it is, and Bellamy still looks back at her like she's _everything_ precious and good.

 _Slow_ , _slow_ … he's connected to her, filling her, driving in with a hesitant, clumsy pace before Octavia drags his hips in, using every thrust to its worth. Tiny, breathy gasps escape her.

Arousal pulses through her, rapid-pace and rhythmic, _clenching_ her down until Bellamy swears and shut his eyes, jolting his hips to her once more.

He isn't gonna last long, he never does — not when the desperation is stretched-thin, when the friction is _goodsogood_ and Octavia holds him inside her like they're cradling each other.

"Touch me, asshole," she groans out, fisting Bellamy's curls. Octavia squirms happily when his forefinger and middle press down on her clitoris.

Fuck, _fuck._

Octavia's not used to being quiet anymore, and howls out her orgasm when it hits, squeezing down on Bellamy's cock to the point it _hurts_. And then the feeling ebbs, soothed away with the heat of Bellamy's come gushing deep inside.

"You okay, O?"

He sounds as breathless and exhausted as she feels. Octavia nods, letting Bellamy cup her face and kiss her brow tenderly, over and over.

 _Love you too_ , echoes in a distant thought, unborn from Octavia's raw, flushed lips.

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 _The 100 isn't mine. You know what I really love? When someone I don't know goes "um you can't ship this/do this" and my immediate response 100 (ehehe geddit) percent of the time is 'wATCH ME DO IT" and I love turning my spite/pettiness/anger into something fully productive and positive geared towards my fandom. Like it's okay to feel anger and to be hurt, but this is how I move on and process my emotions and use it as an outlet. Tl;dr: this is a spite!fic lmao but it's also being expressive and yeah, anyone stopping in, thanks for reading! Hope you had fun with the PWP! Any comments/thoughts appreciated!_


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